King's Cage
by emmacortana
Summary: Short chapter on Mare's thoughts during and on her capture. Might just be a one shot, might turn into my version of King's Cage (Red Queen #3.) I don't know. Tell me what you think, please! T because that's what I rate all my stories to be safe.


**_Hey guys, it's me Emma. And today I have with me a very, VERY short story (I know. It's like 700 words) with me about Mare during her capture. I wrote this a couple months ago, so it's definitely not my best work. But I figured someone might enjoy it, so here it is._**

 ** _And also, currently this is just a one shot, but if you want and I get enough reviews telling me to, I might make this into a prediction or my version of King's Cage (Red Queen 3). So please tell me what you think._**

 ** _Warning: Mare may be just a little OoC because I like to write characters that are a little on the quirky side, if you know what I mean. I tend to write characters such as the ones from the Percy Jackson series, or even The Mortal Instruments, and Mare is kinda more on the serious side. So just a heads up._**

 _Why, why,_ why, _did I offer to go as Maven's prisoner?_

That's what I'm thinking as I am Maven's prisoner.

I can't remember the last time I ate. Probably back before we got attacked, before I got captured. They say a human can go 3 weeks without food before they entirely collapse. My guess is that they'll starve me for 2 weeks and 6 days before they give me something-anything-to eat. I suppose I'm lucky, for living with barely any food my entire life. Otherwise, I'm sure I'd have collapsed a week ago.

I groan as I turn on what's supposed to be a bed, the scratchy and lumpy mattress digging into my body. Over the past week, I've been subject to countless tortures, and although they aren't the worst, that doesn't mean that they're a walk in the park. Burns, verbal and physical abuse. Silent Stone, they even turn my own lightning against me for mere seconds that stretched on too easily to little infinities when I get out of line. I learn to fear whatever Silver that comes my way.

I'm not yet, but I fear, I know, that it won't take me long to become broken.

I count the days with scratches deep enough to draw blood, like a tally chart on my arm. It shouldn't take too long before I run out of room, but I figured that each scar could stand for ten days or something, or I'll move it to my legs or stomach.

Maven has shown me to Norta countless times, each video or photo with my blood flowing from cuts. It was a message to the world that the murderer/seductress has been brought to justice, to the Newbloods that they will be found and killed if they try anything, to the Scarlet Guard that one of their strongest has fallen, and to my mom, dad, sister and now only two brothers, Cal, and Kilorn that he has me, and I will not be treated humanely. Cue the evil laughter.

The days pass with a rumbling stomach, parched lips, torture and pain, and so much blood, it's a wonder how we haven't all drowned. And my memories only bringing more agony, and my imagination bringing panic. I'd close my eyes for even a second, and see my family impaled. Or stare at the wall mindlessly while the hours passed, and also imagine Cal dead, Kilorn dead, Farley dead, _everyone dead._

But still, the dreams are, by far, the worst. I don't sleep at all, afraid of the nightmares that haunt me, or worse, good, nice dreams. Dreams of me _back then_ , the only inescapable burden being my conscription.

I'd take conscription over this any day.

Because I'm only ever awake, I am a living zombie. Paranoid, delusional, weak. It also means that there is more time for creativity and tired hallucinations from sleep loss. But hey, it's one torment over another.

At first I tried to glean information, but soon it became clear that they won't say anything to me. There was nothing to be eavesdropped on. After my hopes of still aiding the Scarlet Guard from afar were crushed.

A guard comes, putting a key in the lock of my cell, ad opening it with a horrible screech. I don't so much as flinch.

"Our king requests your presence." He says in a voice that is too rough. I stand up slowly, not completely trusting my weight (although I weighed little more than a sack of flour, at that point) on my weak legs. When I take too much time, he grabs my leash and yanks, causing me to fall forward. I get up faster, ignoring my body's painful protest.

And I wonder if today is the day that I become broken.


End file.
